


When Mary Changed Her Mind

by Englishtutor



Series: The Other Doctor Watson [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, John and Mary's Wedding, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 15:09:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6333892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Englishtutor/pseuds/Englishtutor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John and Mary's wedding day arrives, and Mary changes her mind.  Also, there are pickpockets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mary Changes Her Mind

He looked around the little piece of Regent’s Park that they had chosen and approved. Greg was hurrying about, staking their claim with crime scene tape. This made John smile. He supposed if he were superstitious, he might wonder if exchanging marriage vows on ground marked out with such a questionable boundary line was wise. As it was, he merely felt it rather apt. He and his bride had gotten acquainted while crime-solving together, after all. 

Greg had picked John up in one of the larger police vans so as to have plenty of room to load up the ice-filled tubs of beverages and the coolers full of food for the reception. It had been Mary’s idea to have a wedding picnic in a park for their closest friends rather than a more formal affair in a church. Everyone was to dress casually and expect to sit on blankets on the ground. There were only about a dozen guests expected, and this suited John perfectly. He had fallen in with Mary’s plan gladly—the whole idea of huge and complicated service had filled him with dread.

He began to set up a couple of folding tables to set the food upon. Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock were to arrive soon with the wedding cake and would need a place to put it. Soon Greg, having finished his foremost task, stepped to John’s side to help unload the paper plates, cups, napkins and plastic ware from their hampers. 

“Good job we arrived so early, mate,” Greg remarked. “We’re not the only ones in the city with thoughts of a picnic today. Beautiful day for a wedding. And perfect venue for it.”

“It’s Mary’s favourite park,” John agreed with a serene smile. “Of course, every park is Mary’s favourite park. But this one happens to be the first park we had a stroll in after our first dinner out.”

Greg grinned. “She’s quite a find, your Mary,” he told John. “There’s not many like her. You’re one lucky chap.” John could not but agree.

“I don’t know how much you’ve been told about what happened after The Accident,” Greg continued as the two unpacked salads, sandwiches, and platters of biscuits. “She was absolutely remarkable. Had every right to fall apart, but kept herself calm and collected the entire time.”

“No one’s told me much of anything,” John replied grimly. Everyone had taken to calling John’s clumsy impaling of himself on a knife ‘The Accident’, as if to emphasize that the incident had been no one’s fault. John knew better. He had almost died; he had put Mary and Sherlock through hell, and it was no one’s fault but his own. He’d let the thief they had been chasing get the drop on him and shove him off balance right into Sherlock, who had been holding the knife. An amateurish, idiotic mistake.

Greg stopped working and turned to John seriously. “Sherlock completely unravelled. He was certain he’d killed you. Panic attack, then shock, the whole gamut. No one could do anything with him, except little Mary. She calmed him down, treated him, cleaned him up, looked after him. It was the most courageous, compassionate thing I’ve ever seen.”

John looked thoughtful. “Their relationship changed completely since The Accident,” he noted. “Before, Sherlock liked Mary well enough, but they weren’t what you’d call friends. After. . . . I can’t explain it. It’s as if he actually wants to please her.”

Greg nodded. “At one point, in the waiting room while you were in surgery, Sherlock became uncooperative with her. And she stood up to him-- said to him, ‘You’ll do exactly as I say,’ or something to that effect. He was a complete lamb for her after that. And seems to me she’s never rescinded that order. He still does whatever she tells him to, doesn’t he?”

“That might explain it,” John mused. “He would know that she put her own feelings aside to help him deal with his. He would feel quite grateful to her for that, I would imagine.”

At that moment, John’s phone signalled. “John, it’s Molly,” a breathless voice greeted him. “There’s been a bit of a . . . a bit of a hitch.” Then Molly’s voice became muffled as she obviously turned away from her phone. “Mrs. Hudson, please. Please don’t get down on the floor, dear. You’ll hurt your hip.”

“What’s going on?” John asked, suddenly concerned.

“Sherlock’s on his way. He can . . . can tell you more about it,” Molly said, sounding completely distracted. “I called to tell you that Mary’s changed her mind. . . . Oh, Mrs. Hudson! Please don’t start crying again! It’s going to be . . . . it’ll be all right . . . .”

At Molly’s words, John felt as if he’d been dropped from an airplane at 30 thousand feet. His stomach churned and his skin went suddenly cold. Mary’s changed her mind? “Molly, let me speak to Mary,” he demanded hoarsely, his throat closing up.

“She’s . . . she’s not here, John. She’s gone . . . gone back to her flat. She went in such a rush she left her phone behind.” John could hear a great deal of clatter and noise in the background, as well as the soft sound of Mrs. Hudson sniffling. Molly continued, although her mind was clearly not on the conversation. ”John . . . . John, listen, I’ve got it all under control. I have to . . . have to get Mrs. Hudson sorted and then . . . then I’ll go to Mary’s and . . . . Mrs. Hudson, dear, wait for me to help, please.” Molly’s voice drifted away again as she dealt with the older woman. John was left hanging, unable to fathom what was happening on Baker Street.

“Molly! Molly!” he called impatiently into the phone. “Molly, I’ll go to Mary’s. You just take care of Mrs. Hudson.”

This brought Molly’s attention back to John immediately. “Don’t . . . don’t you dare, John Watson! You . . . you stay right where you are. She’ll never forgive you if you . . . . You stay and wait for Sherlock,” she insisted. “I promise. . . I promise I’ll get her there. We’ll be late, but we’ll be there. I’ll bring her to you.”

“But I. . . .” John began, but Molly was gone. John wandered in a daze to a bench and sank onto it. Mary’s changed her mind?

Greg had been listening to John’s side of the conversation with a look of concern on his face. “Everything all right, mate?” he asked, moving to sit beside his friend.

John turned stricken eyes to the Inspector’s. “Molly says Mary’s changed her mind. She’s gone to her flat. Mrs. Hudson can’t stop crying and Molly’s trying to calm her down.” He spoke in a monotone, feeling almost paralyzed with the shock. 

Greg tried to smile encouragingly. “That’s all right, mate. She’s just got wedding jitters. They all do it. Molly’ll bring her ‘round. You’ll see.”

But John didn’t want to marry someone who had to be talked into it. And Mary did not have jitters. Mary was the most fearless person he knew. She would never make a decision based on emotions; she would think things through logically and coolly. Mary’s changed her mind. Well, of course she had. She was an intelligent woman; and she was so young, and so beautiful, and so vibrant. Why on earth would she want to throw her life away on a broken-down old soldier like him? Hadn’t Harry said as much just yesterday? Harry refused to come to the wedding. Why should she watch her brother make a fool of himself over a girl half his age, Harry had said. Unfairly, of course—Mary was only 12 years younger, not twenty. But still, she had a point. A point that Mary had also apparently come into agreement with.

“What’s happened?” he heard the familiar baritone voice demand from behind. Sherlock had arrived, and he was carrying the cake. No, he wasn’t, though. It was another cake entirely from the one Mrs. Hudson and Mary had slaved over. It was clearly a cake made in a bakery and purchased just this morning. The detective set it on one of the tables and sat beside John on the bench.

“Molly called. She said Mary’s changed her mind,” John said. It felt more unreal every time he said it. 

“It’s just nerves,” Greg assured them both. “It happens to all of them. You mark my words; she’ll be here soon, ready to tie the knot, any minute.”

John shook his head. He looked up at his best friend, trying to see some sign of encouragement on his face. Instead, he saw only the same bewilderment that John felt himself. “Sherlock, Molly said you’d be able to tell me what’s going on?” he said hopefully.

“I have no idea,” the detective said wonderingly. “Mary was still upstairs in your room, dressing, when I left. She seemed perfectly happy last time I saw her. Even the incident with the cake didn’t bother her.”

“What about the cake?” Greg asked. John frowned. Who cared about cake? Mary’s changed her mind—what difference could cake make?

“Mrs. Hudson was carrying it out to the taxi and lost her balance on the stairs,” Sherlock explained. “She didn’t fall, but she dropped the cake. She was most upset. Molly had all she could do to console her. Then Molly and I walked to the bakery to buy a substitute. I came on here with it, and Molly returned to help Mrs. Hudson clean up the mess. Why don’t you go to Mary’s flat and speak to her?”

“Molly absolutely forbade me to,” John told him, bewildered.

Sherlock was astonished. “Molly was assertive?”

“Adamant, even,” John told him. “Said I was to wait here and let her take care of things.”

“Hmm. Interesting,” Sherlock mused.

John sighed. It was obvious to him what had happened. Mary had initially seen John through a sort of biased, romanticized light, watching him work with Sherlock Holmes. But then John had shown how ridiculously stupid he really was, getting himself stabbed in the back. Mary, with her fear of losing people, must have realized that she couldn’t trust John not to get himself killed in some foolish way. She would have been too kind to break up with him while he was still recovering. But now that he was better, she must have wisely reconsidered taking a chance on him. He didn’t blame her. He thought he should call Molly and tell her not to go to Mary’s flat after all—not to try to convince her to go against her better judgement. He thought about it, but just could not bring himself to do it.

Mycroft arrived, elegant even in his casual dress, with a stranger in his wake. His only task in planning the wedding had been to find a vicar willing to conduct a ceremony in the park, and he had succeeded easily. Who wouldn’t want an excuse to spend such a beautiful spring day in a scenic park, eat lovely picnic foods, and get paid handsomely for it? John stood to greet them, trying to put on a brave face.

Greg pushed in front of him before he could say anything. “So glad you could make it,” he was saying. “The bride will be here presently. She’s just running a bit late.” He gave John a look that told him to keep his mouth shut. John was resigned. He’d let Sherlock and Greg handle things. He’d just sit on his bench and try not to think about what this day had meant to him and how much he had lost. 

The other guests turned up. John looked at his shoes and hoped no one would speak to him. Sherlock and Greg heading off anyone who tried to approach him, much to his relief. How could he bear to accept congratulations, now that he knew that Mary had changed her mind? The time dragged by, and John just sat in a daze.

An appreciative gasp from the guests made him look up. Down the path walked Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and Mary—all smiles. Mary was stunning, her face radiantly happy, her pace quick with excitement. She was wearing a simple white dress, trimmed in blue that matched her eyes. John had never seen anything so perfect in his life. He rose to his feet as she walked towards him. Her eyes were shining. John’s mind stuttered. What was going on? Hadn’t Molly said that Mary had changed her mind?

White dress with blue trim. But Mary had planned to wear jeans and a peasant blouse. She must have . . . . Oh.

“I’m so sorry to make you all wait,” Mary said to her guests cheerfully. “I meant it when I said we should all dress casually, but at the last minute, I changed my mind. I had to rush home and put on something a bit more—wedding-like.” She turned to a speechless John and looked concerned. “Are you all right, Captain? You look a bit peaky. Molly did call to tell you we would be a bit late, didn’t she?”

“Oh, Molly called all right,” Greg snorted, barely able to contain his mirth. “John’s just in shock that you got here so quickly. He thought you’d take a hell of a lot longer. Forever, even,” he chortled.

John shot him a lethal look. Mary just gave him a puzzled smile and then pirouetted before her groom and asked, “Do you like it?”

John remained unable to speak. Good lord! Did he like it? Had he ever in his life liked anything more? In comparison to the vision that stood before him, all else in the world faded into inconsequential nothingness.

“Molly told us you’d changed your mind,” Sherlock remarked. “John thought . . . .”

“You’re wonderful. Perfect and wonderful,” John interrupted, suddenly regaining use of his tongue. “I feel quite . . . underdressed next to you.”

Mary dimpled, throwing her arms around his neck exuberantly. “You’re perfect just the way you are,” she told him warmly. “I absolutely adore you. Let’s get married!”

John finally recovered his scattered wits. “Well, all right, then. Let’s!” he said.

And so, they did.


	2. A Not-Boring Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock provides entertainment for the wedding reception. Could a Watson wedding possibly NOT include criminal activity?

He lay awake in the early hours of the morning, just breathing in her scent and marvelling at the miracle that was his wife. His wife. He could not seem to take it in—only hours ago, this amazing, compelling woman had consented to be his wife. John revelled in the way her head just fit into the hollow of his shoulder just beneath the collar-bone, as if he had been made-to-order just for her use. This was now his foremost goal in life—to be of use of this remarkable woman who had generously and courageously given her heart to him without reservations.

It had been a whirlwind courtship, intense and exciting, and sometimes terrifying. The two of them, so well matched in their temperaments and interests and outlook on life, were also equally well-matched in emotional baggage and trust issues. He had become so accustomed to rejection throughout his lifetime that right up until the moment she arrived at the wedding, joyfully dancing towards him across the park, he had had the niggling fear that she would come to her senses and realize she was making a foolish mistake in joining her life to his. Her greatest fear—her only fear--was of losing people, and he had made it abundantly clear that his job was dangerous and fraught with uncertainty. And yet, she was taking her chances with him. Fortunately for him, for whatever unfathomable reasons, she seemed to feel he was worth the gamble. And immediately following the ceremony, he set about to prove he was not.

He kissed the top of her head and she sighed in her sleep, wrapping herself around him possessively. Their wedding had ended in disaster. Any other woman, John imagined, would have walked out on him after what he had done during the reception. And yet, he couldn’t have done anything else, and the fact that she understood this filled him with gratitude. His thoughts ran back over the events of that busy day.

The ceremony in Regent’s Park had been casual, brief, and to the point, just as they had planned it. Not quite six weeks after he had nearly died of a knife wound to the back—just over six weeks after he had proposed to her—they had been joined in holy matrimony at last. The guests then milled about or sat on blankets on the ground, enjoying the simple picnic fare and listening to a recorded mix of their favourite songs on a CD. And then, Sherlock had sidled over to John and whispered, “Pickpocket at two o-clock,” indicating a spot a hundred yards away. 

John frowned. The man indicated looked innocent enough, but if Sherlock was certain . . . . Suddenly, the detective was off on a jog across the park, leaping lightly over a bench that loomed in his path. John looked at Mary, who was deep in conversation with Molly, and sighed. Of course, there would be thieves in the park in the middle of their wedding reception. He stepped over to Lestrade and pointed to where Sherlock was now cautiously approaching the still-unsuspecting suspect.

“Pickpocket,” he murmured, not wanting to alarm his other guests. Lestrade nodded, and the two strode purposefully towards the unfolding drama. 

Suddenly, the thief caught sight of Sherlock and took off at a dead run. The detective was after his quarry like a shot, and John and Lestrade had all they could to do to catch up to them. The thief then shouted a warning cry and was joined by a second young man in the sprint across the park. 

They raced past The Hub sports centre and ploughed straight through a group of children who were playing tag on the green. The children scattered, screaming, some of them bowled over by the young thieves when they failed to get out of the way quickly enough. The adults in the crowd began shouting and panicking, only frightening the children more. 

“Go on, I’ll catch up!” Lestrade yelled to John and began to quickly bring order to the chaotic group with his authoritative voice and calm, confident manner. 

Meanwhile, the pickpocketing duo split up. John saw Sherlock swerve after the young man headed towards Longbridge, leading over the water to the busy, rather crowded facilities beyond it. The doctor stayed on the heels of the second man, headed right for the crotch of the Y-shaped lake, beyond the fence line. The crowded walking path through the trees on the shore slowed them both as bystanders scattered out of their way, and then seconds later John lunged and tackled his quarry and they rolled over and over as he attempted to subdue the thief. Normally, he would have been more than a match for the young man, but John was still recovering from his knife-wound and the forced inactivity of the past six weeks. 

Finally grasping the thief by the collar, an impatient John drew back and head-butted the man in the face. “I’ll have you know,” he puffed angrily, “you’ve interrupted a perfectly lovely wedding. Mine!”

“So go back to it!” gasped the pickpocket. “No one asked you to interfere!” He eeled out of John’s grasp and staggered to his feet. John leaped after him and tackled him a second time, not noticing how close they were to the edge of the lake. The momentum took them over the bank with a splash.

The cold plunge seemed to take the fight out of the thief, and John hauled him onto the shore with a grim expression on his face. Soaking wet and muddy, he could only imagine what Mary was going to say to him when he returned to the wedding party. “Come on,” he growled crossly, jerking his captive’s dominant arm behind his back and holding tightly to the opposite shoulder. John’s own shoulder was beginning to seize up from the cold, and the still-healing muscles in his back throbbed. He was grateful that his prisoner was being cooperative—he wasn’t sure he could hold onto to the young man if he really wanted to escape at this point.

Across the green, John could see Sherlock by the bridge, his own quarry well in hand, both also dripping wet. The doctor wondered who had tossed whom off Longbridge and into the lake first. The Met were now arriving in force—John could just imagine how many frantic emergency calls they had received in the past few minutes from Regent’s Park. The police reached Sherlock first and took his thief into custody. 

Seeing his partner in crime being handcuffed seemed to rouse John’s prisoner back into action. He began to struggle wildly and John lost his grip on the man’s shoulder. Whipping around, the thief knocked John off balance, and they both went down again. This time, John landed hard on his back, the pain completely paralyzing him for a few precious seconds—just long enough for his prisoner to gain his feet. John’s eyes widened as he saw the man’s foot rear back in readiness for a kick aimed at his head. 

But before he could gather himself to roll aside, a white blur swept past, knocking the thief to the ground with a shriek of surprise. John rose to his knees and gaped at the sight of his bride kneeling on the pickpocket’s chest, punching his already bloody nose with good effect. 

“Get off me, you bitch!” the thief screamed desperately.

“That was my husband’s head you were kicking!” she informed him grimly, trying to punch him again as he grasped at her wrists to protect himself.

John surged to his feet, enraged by the sight of the young man’s pawing at his wife. His wrath overruled his pain, and after gently helping Mary to her feet, he gripped the thief’s collar in his right hand, lifting the man to his feet, and smashed his left fist into the miscreant’s jaw. “You don’t manhandle my wife,” he said tightly, employing a few well-chosen and colourful curses as well. He threw the thief to the ground again.

“The bitch attacked ME!” the thief gasped out in protest, in too much pain to move again. This statement did not settle well with John, and it was only the timely arrival of Lestrade at that moment which saved the thief further damage to his face.

“That’s enough, mate,” Lestrade soothed the outraged groom as he hauled John bodily from the hapless pickpocket. “The Met’s here. They’ll take him from here.”

“She attacked me! I didn’t touch her!” the pickpocket repeated insistently as he was taken into custody. It was, after all, the only criminal charge against him of which he was truly innocent.

“It’s her wedding day, mate,” Lestrade informed him helpfully. “I always find it wisest to let a bride have things her own way on her wedding day. If she wants to attack you, you ought to just let her.”

Sherlock, who had arrived at the same time as the police, added dryly, “I always find it wise to allow Mrs. Watson to have things her own way at any time.” Lestrade snickered.

In the meantime, John was approaching the new Mrs. Watson with concern on his face. “Are you all right?”

“Of course I’m all right. I’m not the one recovering from surgery,” she reminded him in a mildly scolding voice. “I imagine you’ve set your recovery back several weeks.” But she was smiling, and threw her arms around him gently.

“Don’t. I’m sopping,” John protested, pushing her back.

Mary chuckled. “That doesn’t matter. But if you’d told me you had planned an entertainment for the reception, I might have dressed more casually.”

John looked at her affectionately. Her hair, so carefully coifed for the day, was dishevelled; her simple white dress was dirty and grass-stained. She’d lost her shoes at some point, and her stockings were torn. He thought he’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

Now looking down at her, snuggled into his side in bed, he was filled with gratitude that she was still with him. She had deserved his full attention on their wedding day, and he had allowed The Work to intrude. He had behaved badly and he knew it, but she did not seem to mind. He kissed her gently, and she stirred and awoke.

“Not sleeping?” she murmured.

“Watching you sleep,” he replied sheepishly.

She snorted. “How bored you must be,” she teased him.

“Mm-mm. You have me completely fascinated,” he assured her.

“You say the sweetest things,” she cooed, rewarding him with a kiss.

“I’m sorry, Mary. I know I keep saying it, but I really am,” he said sincerely.

“Sorry for what?”

“Ruining our wedding. Rushing off like that without a word, spoiling the reception. Letting my job interfere with our personal life.”

Mary sighed. “Captain, your job is a part of our personal life. You can’t just not do your job. If you see someone committing a crime, you obviously have to take care of it.”

“Still, you must have been angry with me when you saw me take off without saying anything,” he insisted.

She hugged him close. “No, I really wasn’t. I trust you entirely, Captain. I know you would have let me know you were going if you’d had the time. If you left, it was because you had to. I understand that. And, of course, you were quite easy to follow! Anyway, it’s our marriage that’s important, isn’t it? Not the wedding. We got that part done quite well.”

He laughed softly. “We did, didn’t we? I love you, Mrs. Watson,” he whispered.

“Prove it!” she demanded, kissing him.


End file.
